


Bloodied Hands

by tlea



Series: The Lovely Insane [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark Stiles, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nogitsune Trauma, PTSD Stiles, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Void Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlea/pseuds/tlea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He almost wished the Nogitsune was still possessing him, and doesn't that just sound fucked up OR After the Nogitsune is killed, Stiles suffers PTSD, and is drowning in guilt over Allison</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodied Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that revolves around Stiles and shows how he copes after the Nogitsune is gone. I feel like he would've gone through some sort of disorder after the whole Nogitsune ordeal, and I'm a bit sad that they made him seem perfectly healthy in his mental state, because I personally believe something would've happened to him, something would've changed. This is my look on it. It is AU, obviously, but I still hope you like it.

     He attended the funeral. He had stayed secluded in the back, avoided people at all costs, and had left mid-way through, but he did attend, even if he hadn't wanted to. He knew it was rude to leave early, but it would've been even more rude to skip it altogether.  He had planned on staying for the whole ceremony, really, he had. When he saw her, though,  laying in that stupid casket, with her eyes closed, and arms folded over, holding a small rose over her stomach, he couldn't help but see the blood. All the blood.

    It was _his_ fault. She was dead  because of him.

  People would say, " It's not your fault. It wasn't you."

  But really, it was him. In a completely complicated and screwed up way, it was him. She was trying to save _him_ , and if he had just done something, warned them that he knew something felt wrong when they went to the school, she could've lived. Fifty people wouldn't have to be attending a beautiful, bright, so-much-life-ahead-of-her, 17 year olds funeral.

  So, when he stood there above her casket, he knew he couldn't do it. Blood flashed in his mind, the sword going clean through her stomach, Lydia screaming for her, and it just kept re-playing and re-playing. The " I'm so sorry, she was such a wonderful young lady," that seemed to go on repeat in the room made him want to puke.

" I'm so sorry, I killed your only daughter." Was what his mind had supplied in place for it. The room was spinning and tilting, and every person there seemed to glare at him, knowing he had caused this. He was the one who sent their precious girl away. He knew it was just his imagination, of course. No one knew the real story of how everything went down. It was stated as an accident. An _accident._ And somehow that just  made everything worse.

  He screwed up. It was _his_ accident.

 The guilt was what made him leave. It was selfish, he was feeling bad for himself when he should be consoling all the other grieving people. He knew it, and he tried so hard not to make this about him, but the hallucinations wouldn't stop, screams and blood were a constant movie in his head, and he couldn't take it.

It was his fault, his fault, his fault.

He went home, unnoticed.

No one saw him for three days.

**xxxx**

They all knew he was grieving the worst. They tried so hard to convince him that he didn't do it. It was _not_ him, and if they wanted to get technical about it, they all played a role in her death.

It had been a month since her death, and since the removal of the Nogitsune, and he was still distant. Extremely distant.

When they saw him, he looked like death. He was pale, and his eyes were sunken in. His hair was a mangled mess, and they were all sure he had been wearing the same shirt he had been a week before, the last time they saw him.

He didn't talk much.  His sarcasm was clean gone. They hadn't heard him laugh in forever.

And he was scary. When they tried to speak to him, he seemed to have so much anger, and he would shout and his eyes would be emotionless. His whole body shook when he yelled, and he started threatening them at certain points.

" Do you think.." Lydia had began one day, asking the question everyone was thinking.

"No, _no."_ Scott had stated, as if what she was going to ask was the most absurd thing, but really, he had been thinking the same." It's gone. The Nogitsune is out of him."

They weren't worried.

...

...

They should've been.

**xxxx**

His friends looked at him differently, at least the times he actually saw them, they did.

He didn't blame them, though. He realized it, too. He felt it. And it scared him.

Anger practically boiled inside him, and he didn't know what to do. He could contain it with the Nogitsune, or the Nogitsune could do something about it, at least. You would've thought getting rid of the Nogitsune would've been a fixer, but it wasn't. He almost wished the Nogitsune was still possesing him, and doesn't that just sound fucked up. It was true, though, but he wouldn't dare say that. Sadly, the Nogitsune had began to be a part of him, and the weeks he had been possessed, he had gotten used to that extra little voice in his head, bantering back and forth with him. He got used to having someone there, and having him kept everything under control, ironically enough. Now, he felt empty, like something was missing, and anger. So much anger.

He tried shouting to release it, but that rarely helped. He had punched his dad. His _dad._ He didn't even say sorry afterwards, and his dad hadn't even said something to initiate the punch, he was just there, and the anger hit him like a wave, so his dad got the blow of it.

Sometimes, he would be looking at someone and imagine himself holding a knife, and stabbing that person, blood pooling everywhere. He would find himself smirking, and his hands shaking.

That scared him, that bit.

**xxxx**

He tried going to school, really he did. He didn't attend for the first month, and his dad had actually dragged him out of the house to go to school, it had worked, until he had had a full blown panic attack in the car and punched violently at his father. He didn't attend for another week.

When he finally did go to school, everyone looked at him differently. They treated him and his friends like they would break any second, which was probably close to true for him, but it still pissed him off. He hated being tiptoed around, and having teachers ask you if you're okay every time you zoned out didn't make it much better. Because them asking if he was okay was them really thinking, " Oh boy, he saw his friend get killed last month, and he's zoning out, maybe he's gonna start bawling any second now," but really, half of the time he was simply zoned out for his lack of sleep, and fuck them for reminding him of her.

On a particular Friday he had been zoned out from lack of sleep (again) and he may have been thinking back to that night (again), and  his teacher had quietly walked up to his desk, crouched down slightly, and said, " Are you alright? I know these past months have been rough, do you-" And holy shit, he had had enough of this stupid pity party for him.

" Stop asking me if Im fucking okay, unless you want to get punched," He had yelled, and the classroom had gone dead silent, many turning their heads to look at him.

Because no way did _he_ just say that, of all people. And maybe, wow he's completely lost it.

That didn't go over well with the teacher.

Or his father.

**xxxx**

It was gone,

It was gone,

It was gone,

The Nogitsune was gone.

That's what everyone said.

But sometimes, if he listened closely, he could hear the raspy breath, chanting,

"Let me in."

He didn't know whether to celebrate or cry.

**xxxx**

It was gone, everyone said.

It was gone, he told himself.

But deep down, half of it was still there.

It had left a gaping hole, scarring him forever.

**xxxx**

He didn't know when he started referring to himself as "we". He still rarely realized when he did it. It was mainly his friends who would catch him on it. If his father heard it, he didn't say anything.

He had been at his locker, surrounded by Lydia, Scott and Kira. They were rambling about something he wasn't paying attention to. Suddenly they were gone and Scott was calling out to him, " Hey, you coming?"

" Yeah, we'll be there in a sec," He paused as he shoved his books around, " We just have to get something real quick," He could feel Scott stop, and tense. It made himself pause and turn around to look at Scott, who's eyes had been like ten feet high.

Scott gulped, took a step forward," We?"

"Huh?"

" You said, and I quote, ' Yeah, we'll be there in a sec,'" Scott watched as his eyes glazed over in confusion.

" Oh, well, _I'll_ be there in a sec..." He stuttered. Had he actually said 'we'? Why would he say that, it was gone, gone, gone, gone, why would he-

" Are you okay?" Scott had practically been in his face, hand on his shoulder, staring him down.

" Fine."

When Scott saw him standing in the hallway five minutes later, focused on his hands, mumbling numbers as his fingers shook uncontrollably, he didn't say anything.

No one said anything.

Why didn't they?

...

...

They should've.

**xxxx**

He couldn't breathe.

                 In. Out. In. Out.

                             Walls fumbled in front of him

Red danced across his vision.

                                Words tumbling:

                                                      You're a hero.

                    In. Out. In. Out.

You're a oreh.

                                 The words were falling.

They were falling.

                                        He was falling. Breathe.

_Breathe._

Oure'y a reho.

                                    Falling. Falling.

                Blink. Still there.

                          Youe'r a emonr

Count to ten.

 **One**.

You're a smontore

 **Two**.

In. Out.

_This isn't real._

**Three**.

You're a montesr

You killed her

 **Five**.

Brick walls enclosing.

_You're a monster._

Words changing. Rearranging.

Come on, count!

 **Six**. Breathe.

Allison is dead

 **Seven**.

_It was you_

Shouting:

_You're a monster._

**Eight** , **Nine**.

Let me in.

**_Ten_ **

**xxxx**

He finally felt _happy_. He hadn't felt happy in forever. Everything felt okay. He didn't feel empty. He felt satisfied and in control. He felt strong and powerful.

" We can destroy all of them," That familiar raspy voice had whispered from nowhere but everywhere at once.

He smirked and then a sudden realization of, _Wait, what?_ And thats when he looked, and then saw.

And he couldn't breathe, and wait _no, no, no,_ this is not how it's supposed to be.

It was gone. They had gotten rid of it. It was gone.

Then why was it _here?_

His hands were shaking and crimson red dripped from them. And suddenly there was screaming and blood was to his left and right, and red covered his vision. It comforted him yet scared him all at once. And no, no, no, not real.

" You're gone," He had yelled as he looked everywhere the blood wasn't, but there was blood everywhere, and he couldn't breathe.

" Why don't you accept it?" Came the raspy voice again, and shit, he hadn't expected it to answer. The voice echoed everywhere and he made the mistake of looking down, and at his feet laid so many familiar faces.

One-uh classmate, two-uh classmate, three-uh classmate, four.

" Answer me," Came a shout and he snapped his head back up and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He licked his lips, stuttered,

" This isn't real. _You_ aren't real. We got rid of you." Don't look down, don't look down.

" But you miss me," It wasn't a question. There was something in his hands, now. He could feel it.

 _No,_ "Yes." It was a knife. A knife was in his hands.

A low chuckle filled around him and he was confused, so confused, but yet happy. And how the fuck could that be.

 He wanted to puke. Could he just puke?

" So why don't you do what you've been dying to do for the past two months?"

His mind screamed _no_ , but his body begged to differ. He was suddenly grasping the knife, and thrusting it into someone, and he could feel the pain they were in, and holy shit, how wonderful it was to be able to be the one on the side of giving the pain, instead of the one receiving. He stabbed the person over and over and over. His mind was screaming,

_Stop, Stop, Stop!_

But it made him feel better, so much better. He flipped the body over and-

_Oh my God._

Allison's pale, dead face stared back at him. Suddenly he was screaming and crying,

" No, not her! It wasn't supposed to be her! No!" The knife was dropped onto the ground, and he didn't realize he was cradling her, and no no no no. Not again, not again.

" I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Sorry for killing you, Sorry for taking pleasure in your pain, sorry, sorry, sorry.

He clenched his eyes shut, tears streaming out. When his eyes opened up again, he was in his bed, sitting upright.

_It was just a dream_

He was still upset and panicky, but better, much better. It had all been a dream, and he hadn't killed all those people. Killed _her_ again.

Then suddenly, the reoccurring dread hit him, and something told him,

" Don't look down, don't look down."

He looked down.

His hands were covered in red.

He cried for an hour as he scrubbed his hands raw, getting rid of the blood, of everything.

By morning he had  convinced himself it had been a coincidence, and/or a hallucination.

Ah ah ah, gullible little boy.

**xxxx**

He got a phone call the next morning from Scott.

"Schools cancelled today," He had said, but he didn't sound happy, and he knew why. The only reason school was ever canceled was because of police matters,  it was always something serious.

" What?" He stuttered, nearly dropping the phone.

" They,ah,uh...half of our classmates are dead."  And suddenly he had dropped the phone and he was crying, and screaming.

And shit it was him.

He was so stupid, thinking it hadn't been him. He had done it. Worst of all he had liked it.

Wait, no.

They, _they_ had liked it.

**xxxx**

When he had given him the news he had heard the phone drop, and crying, and what the hell, was Stiles actually crying?

"Hello..? Are you still there?" And then he realized he wasn't there, he was too busy having a panic attack. Why was Stiles having a panic attack, he wasn't even friends with any of their classmates- and _oh._

_Shit, shit, shit._

But, wait, no. The nogitsune was gone.

It couldn't have  been Stiles.

Could it?

When he heard a raspy voice on the other end of the phone saying, " We did good. " He ran out of his room and into his car as fast as he could.

**xxxx**

There was a banging on their door, and why was anyone banging on their door? They just wanted to be left alone. They had killed those people. But they had never felt better, then why were they having a panic attack, and oh my freaking god would the banging on the door just stop.

Suddenly Scott was standing in their bedroom, and  he had let himself in, how freaking rude.

" Why are you here," They snapped, causing Scott to jump back slightly.

" I, uh, heard you on the phone...sounded like a panic attack. I just," Scott cut his sentence off slowly as his eyes caught a glimpse of several red stains on the bed sheet in the corner.  He snapped his eyes back to Stiles, cleared his throat, " Wanted to make sure you were okay."

" We're-" Stiles shook his head, blinked, " I'm..I'm fine." He smiled lightly, scratching at his neck. " So if you could leave now.." He stated quite rudely, going to shove Scott out.

"Actually," Scott shouted, resisting Stiles' shoves, " I have another question..."

"Yeah?" He gulped, switching from leg to leg nervously.

 

"Did you kill them?" Scott hesitated, not quite looking him in the eyes.

 _Deny, deny, deny._ then, _he knows, lie lie lie._

 

But his mind and mouth had two different ideas and he didn't know if he was proud of his response, which was, "Yes."

Scott was a taken back by the bluntness of his answer, and really he hadn't expected him to say yes. Something inside Stiles told him _Trick him. We need to play it off. Cry, fake a panic attack, something. Trick.Him._

So they did. They started the waterworks,started shaking and stuttering. "Scott," they made sure to make it high pitched, broken and confused-like the night he was lost in the basement. " I don't know what's happening. We...I-I didn't mean to. I don't know what to do, I need...I need," they pretended to break down and started to take short breaths, putting their hand out as if in need of help.

They couldn't help but smirk when Scott bought it. He grabbed them by the shoulders, speaking calmly, "It's okay, I don't blame you Stiles, we'll figure this out." And he was staring at them, speaking nonsense.

They knew they had to do something about Scott. He knew they killed those people, surely he heard them over the phone. They had to do something. They grasped at the knife behind them- the one they found next to the bed when they woke up.

_He's our friend. My friend. He's my brother._

He argued, but was met with another argument, _We know. We love him, we do. But he'll turn us in, keep us from pursuing our happiness, you know it._

And, how could they argue with that? They waited until Scott was close enough. They grasped Scott's shoulder and with a hint of real sadness, "We're sorry," was spoken as the knife was thrashed against Scott's throat. Scott's eyes conveyed confusion and betrayal as blood trickled from his throat and crimson gurgled from his mouth. He didn't last long and soon they were finally alone.

 

This is real. This isn't real. This is-

****

**_Stiles woke up screaming._ **

 


End file.
